


Sweet Desire (A Terrible Thing to Lose)

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Leitner Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 11:48:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: Jon has, unsurprisingly, done something stupid, and Martin is apparently the only one he trusts to help (well, according to Elias anyway, but oddly enough, Martin's more likely to believe it from him than anyone).





	Sweet Desire (A Terrible Thing to Lose)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was supposed to be an easy fuck or die scenario, then it grew feelings and forgot all about the fucking. Sigh. Set in some future timeline where Elias is out of prison and Martin is still very much entrenched in the Lonely (but minus my worries for what that means for his future, apparently).

"Can't you do it?" Martin asked. 

Elias frowned. "No," he said. "I can’t. He doesn't trust me." A hint of frustration colored his voice, and in spite of himself Martin smiled. The expression felt unfamiliar on his face; he was tempted to reach up and touch it. Almost immediately he frowned. He wasn't supposed to be happy about this. Wasn't supposed to feel the smallest tendril of triumphant satisfaction, knowing that no matter how far Jon had slid (and oh, he'd slid so far, much farther than Martin wanted to admit, even now), he still didn’t want anything to do with Elias. 

Elias caught him at it, of course. There was no point in trying to pretend; the fog that protected him from the Beholding was uncomfortably thin when it came to Jon. He was sure that Elias had picked his continued infatuation with him right out of his head well before he'd even entered the room. He knew before even speaking that he'd be offering Martin everything he wanted, everything he was capable of wanting, even now. 

Still. "I doubt he trusts me, either," he said, a last ditch attempt to stop this, to keep himself from giving in. A weak one, too, if Elias's returning smile was anything to go by. 

"He trusts you more than anyone," he said, and despite the smile the words were tight, tense, and Martin felt another tendril of that smug satisfaction slide through him, bringing with it the stinging pins-and-needles sensation of some sleeping limb waking up. He twitched, turned it into a nonchalant shrug that fooled no one. But the point wasn't fooling Elias, and never had been.

"Why does it even matter? Surely he's too far gone to care." If he wasn't now he soon would be. It wasn't important now, but Martin had done his fair share of research into the Leitners. He knew that whatever ability Jon had to fight what the book had done to him would wear off sooner or later, and then he wouldn't be able to stop, no matter who was in front of him. 

"Do you really want to take that chance?" Elias asked. Bastard. 

~****~

"Jon?" Martin poked his head through the door of the Archives, calling out in a tentative, timid voice that was so much like the Martin of old that it made him wince. _I'm ashamed_, he thought with dim amusement. _Ashamed of being seen that same old way_. He wasn't sure Jon would even care, but the thought that he would still see him as the same useless lump he used to bothered him in a way that nothing else had been able to in what felt like forever. "Jon, are you in here? It's Martin." 

"…Martin?" Jon's voice, thready and weak, came from his office. "Is it. Is it really you?" Even doped out of his mind by the Leitner he'd read (on purpose, Elias had told him, and Martin hadn't even bothered to roll his eyes. Of course it was on purpose; Jon was nothing if not too curious for his own damned good) he sounded suspicious, and horrible, awful fondness expanded in Martin's chest. It hurt. 

"Yes, it's me," he said, voice stronger now, and stepped forward. 

Before he could take more than that one step, Jon was barreling out of his office. Martin backed up the step he'd just taken, but Jon didn't seem to notice. He stopped just in front of him, eyes wide and worried as they searched his face. 

"Martin," he breathed, in tones reserved for gods. "I was worried about you." A note of petulance crept into his voice at the end, and Martin found himself smiling. It was just so _Jon_, in spite of everything, that he couldn't help it. Didn't really want to. 

Fingertips pressed against his mouth, and for a moment Martin wondered if it was him, reaching up at last to feel the unfamiliar curve his lips had taken, but after a moment he realized they were Jon's. His eyes were fixed on where his fingers touched Martin's face, wide and blown and beautiful. "Martin," he said again, voice full of an odd kind of wonder, "I missed you." His fingers trailed from Martin's mouth, down his neck and back up again; his own mouth curled when Martin shivered in reaction. "I didn't think I would," he confessed, and tipped forward. 

Martin stopped him. "Jon," he said firmly, but it wasn't firm, not at all. It was breathless and awed and all wrong. "You don't want- this isn't -" 

"I do," Jon said, insistent and impatient, batting Martin's words away like annoying flies. "I know what’s happening, I know why I’m feeling this way. I'm not an _idiot_, Martin. But I trust you." His hands curled around Martin's cheeks and he shook his head before Martin could call him out on the lie. "I _want_ to trust you," he amended, and this time it was Martin who leaned in, helpless. 

The kiss wasn't very good. Both of them were clearly inexperienced and it was sloppy with far too much tongue, but Martin didn't care. He doubted Jon did either, from the noises he was making, but he couldn't really be trusted. Martin had an idea that _anything_ would have worked on him; had an idea that despite what Elias had claimed, he'd been close to taking anyone at all just to relieve the need coursing through him. 

As if to prove his point Jon pressed even closer, practically molding them together. He hooked his ankle around Martin's calf and pulled him in tighter, rubbing up against him like a cat. "Come on, come on," he muttered against Martins mouth, sliding his hands down his back to grip his ass and push him down as he ground up against his thigh. "Yes, this, more." He nipped at Martin's jaw, too hard, his thrusting motions growing frenzied, fingers digging into the meat of his ass almost hard enough to hurt. 

For his part, Martin was lost. After months of feeling next to nothing he was overwhelmed by how much he felt now. He was hard and gasping, grinding down into Jon as desperately as he was grinding up. It was ridiculous and painful and _glorious_, and Martin hardly knew how to handle it. Instead of trying, he let it carry him away, let himself ride on the wave of feeling until it exploded and he was left panting and trembling, sinking to the ground with Jon held securely in his arms. 

~****~

They didn't fuck. 

Martin wanted to; wanted to with the burning longing that came with knowing that he'd never have another chance, but he couldn't. One of them had to keep their head, and no matter how many times Jon insisted that he knew what he was doing, _thank you Martin_, he knew that if they crossed that line he would regret it. They both would, even if in the moment it felt like the only thing they wanted. Jon wasn't fully himself, not really, and taking more advantage of that than he already was would be shameful. Martin didn't know if he'd feel the same once this was over, but he suspected that as with all things regarding Jonathan Sims it would be reluctant to leave him be. 

That didn't mean that they didn't do everything but, of course, and by the time Jon finally fell asleep (although "fell asleep" was rather a kind way of putting it. Perhaps "passed out from exhaustion" would have been more accurate), they were both naked and Martin was more sore than anything else. Still, he would have gone on had Jon been awake to do so. He would have done anything to make him feel better. Anything to prolong the painpleasure feeling that Jon inspired in him. 

Despite his tired and aching body, Martin cleaned Jon up, then lifted him (so light; Martin doubted he'd been eating. Maybe it was true, what he had feared; maybe the statements were feeding him, sustaining him more than food ever could, but his body and his mind were two different things, and Martin felt the old worry resurface, familiar in spite of the lack of it for so long, nearly choking him with its intensity) and got him into his old bed (the covers rumpled; had he been sleeping here? Martin wanted to pretend he didn't care, but he worry spiked again, painful and relentless). For a moment he indulged himself, looking down at Jon's sleeping face and imagining a world where he didn't have to leave. A world where the two of them were normal and able to see where this might lead. There were words in his mouth; words that he had to clench his teeth against to keep from spilling out in a confession that neither of them would care for. Unconscious or not, there was nothing here that could or would happen without Jon knowing. If he listened hard enough Martin could hear the whir of the recorder, and he wondered what Jon would do with the tape. Listen, probably, even if he'd really rather not. Jon's appetite for knowledge was insatiable, after all. 

Martin allowed himself one final glance at Jon's sleeping form, then forced himself to turn away. He got himself dressed slowly, not entirely because he wanted to linger, and then left the Archives. The farther away he got the easier it was to push the encounter and the things it made him feel aside, and by the time he made it back to his own office he could barely recall why it had seemed so important in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you feel so inclined, please let me know what you thought. :)


End file.
